Hero
by IndigenousGhost
Summary: Some heroes aren't born, they're made.


One

You know that stereotype? The one that all heroes have dead parents. Well, there's a reason that stereotype exists. I mean, look at us. Tony's parents. Dead. Cap's. Long dead. Natasha's. Dead also. Bruce's? Very dead. Me? My parents died when I was twelve. Before then, I had the best parents anyone could ask for. Especially when they dealt with my mental shit like they did.

I was five when it started. I collapsed on the floor screaming because it hurt so badly. All those voices suddenly pressing down into my skull. I felt like my brain was being split in half. My mother, half catatonic with fear, carried me to our SUV and belted me in before speeding to the hospital. There, they poked and prodded and scanned. Finally, when they scanned my brain activity, it lit up like a christmas tree.

I remember the doctor coming in to speak with my mom, pulling her outside, but somehow hearing everything. Though, somehow I knew it wasn't the talking I was hearing, it was their thoughts, and everybody else's. My mother was hysterical in her head when she came back to me, but she smiled calmly and told me we were going to a different doctor at a special hospital.

"Momma," I said quietly, "I know you're scared."

She smiled sweetly, "How do you know that, baby girl?"

"I can hear you," I whispered, then tapping my head, "In here."

She picked me up and whispered in my ear, "No matter what Rosalie, remember, you're our daughter, and we love you."

She choked back tears, but she kept on smiling, and from then on, carefully monitored her thoughts. You see? I had the best mom. And my dad, fucking hell. He was the man. He held me and loved me and supported, not only me, but my mom as well. He was always always there for us.

The two of them helped me find a "doctor" to hone my abilities. They put me in an alternative school where the environment was less stressful. They didn't try and stifle my abilities, they built them up. They built me up. They made me who I am at my core. When it came to my sister, they made sure she never teased me and made it very clear I was not a danger. Even when the shaking started and my second ability became apparent.

I could move things with my mind. That started when I was seven. My mom wouldn't let me have any sweets and when I started yelling, things started flying off the shelves. That shocked both of us into silence. It happened again through happiness, my dad told me a joke and I started laughing so hard everything in a two yard radius of me started floating. That never scared them. They didn't hate me or drive me away.

My parents did everything right, they were perfect, but they still died. And I could have saved them, but I didn't. I was too weak, too scared. I just wasn't good enough because I'm not hero material.

We were at the the Denver mall. We had just come out of a movie at the theater. Everything was normal. We were happy. My little sister, Agnes, had stolen my hat. She did that whenever we were out, taking advantage of the fact that I couldn't use my powers to steal it back from her. I was chasing her, yelling for my mom to tell her to give it back. I was so preoccupied with it that I never even heard them..

The bombs blew first, sending my sister and I flying. My head crashed into the cobbled stone of the square and I was dimly aware of screaming. Looking back, I knew it was me. My ears rang and my vision was blurry. It was like I was standing at the far end of a tunnel and the my world was at the other end, being torn apart by a bunch of fucking psychopathic terrorists. I craned my neck to the left to see my sister agnes on her knees, coughing up blood. Then, I turned it to the right.

Fifteen feet away, my mother knelt holding my father body. Half his head was missing. Even with distance, and not being able to hear, I could tell she was screaming. One of the men, heavily armed and wearing a painted ski mask, strode up to her. I reached my hand out towards my mother, knowing what was going to happen. Her eyes flickered towards me. Her mouth moved, saying my name. And something else.

 _Protect Agnes_.

The man raised his gun, and shot her point blank through the head. Even though I couldn't hear, the sound of her body hitting the ground was deafening. I stared at her body, strewn atop my father's, blood and grey matter oozing from the gaping hole in her head. It felt unreal, like a living nightmare.

The man turned towards Agnes and I. He walked slowly, taking his time, absorbing the fear that radiated from both of us. When he stood over me, he reached down and gripped the neckline of my t-shirt. With a flick of my wrist, his neck snapped, his head twisted a hundred and eighty degrees. I rolled onto my knees, determined to do one thing right. I had to protect my sister. I was on my knees, struggling to get to my feet, when someone grabbed me from behind and flung me thirty feet across the square. I crashed into the pavement, having enough sense to protect my head. I started to get up, but one of the men,restrained me from behind. I had to watch as another man picked up ny sister, tossed her over a shoulder like a ragdoll, and strode off. I had to watch.

The man behind me threw me back onto the ground and pulled out a gun. I would have died there and then. The only reason I'm alive is because of Tony Stark. He dropped out of the sky like a bullet in that flashy red and gold suit of his and blasted my attacker away. The lights on his suit had me wincing. His face mask slid open, revealing a face I'd seen on the news more times than I could count.

"Hey, little girl," he said, "Name?"

I couldn't respond. Sighing, he clanked over to me and scooped me up in his arms. I felt small, and I shivered against the cold metal. He took to the sky, holding me tight against his chest. The wind bit at me.

"Where are your parents?" Tony asked.

It took everything in me to say that one word, "Dead."

"Jeez kid, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?" he said.

"I don't know …" I whispered.

That was when my journey through foster care began, being bounced around from home to home. I went down a path my parents would not have been proud of. I became one of the most wanted thieves on the eastern seaboard, with several charges of assault under my belt as well. The media, as they're prone to, gave me the name Psych. I hated my life, and I hated everyone around me, but mostly I hated myself. Maybe, that's why I let myself be trapped by Nick Fury.

 _Speak of the devil_ , I think, as he walks into my cell.

"Hello Ms. Fletcher," Fury says, peering down at me with his one eye through the bars of the cell.

I don't move. I don't lift my head or my hood. I sit on the cot with my legs stretched out in front of me and my hands clasped in my lap.

"We've arrived," he says, "Are you gonna play nice? Or do I have to make you?"

I snort, "Let's get one thing straight, Fury. You couldn't contain me, no matter how hard you tried. I'm here because I want to be. No. Other. Reason."

I stand up and stretch.

"You're a hero now," Fury replies, ignoring my statement, "Act like it."

I tilt my head so he can see my smile, but only that, "I'm no hero."

But maybe I can finally do something that would make my parents proud.


End file.
